Cemeteries
by CriminalConsultant
Summary: Sebastian attends Sherlock's funeral.


Sebastian sat on the corner of the unmade bed, large newspaper bearing the title "Suicide of Fake Genius" in bold black letters in hand; a few pages in, he read the continuation of the cover story. Had he not been there he may have assumed the journalist had done his research and put forth an accurate depiction of the event; but he had been so he knew the writer was absolutely full of shit. There had been a few mentions of one Richard Brooks with a number of out of context quotes, each paragraph used the name "Moriarty" liberally.

All in all, the article was a bit of a drag to read. As much as Seb hated Sherlock Holmes, it was still terribly annoying to read every newspaper in London slandering the man. Reichenbach hero turned public enemy number one, he supposed Jim really did win the game then.

Sebastian turned as he heard the rustling of the sheets behind him and a mass of disheveled black hair popped up.

"Anything interesting?" He called from under the covers.

"Just what we expected, Holmes was a bastard, Moriarty wasn't real, and Brooks is the poor, brave actor."

"Ooooh that's dull."

"I thought so too"

Sebastian folded up the paper and tossed it onto the nightstand, crawling up next to Jim in the bed who curled up on his chest. Absentmindedly Seb carded his fingers through Jim's damp hair, the matted bit of drying blood ('donated' by one of their clients) had taken ages to wash off in the shower. That and he'd be hearing about Jim's ruined suit for weeks. His thoughts wandered off to John Watson, most likely sitting alone in his flat right now staring at an empty chair. Knowing Jim was going to fake his death was stressful enough, Seb couldn't imagine having to watch him jump. They weren't so different, just as Sherlock and Jim had been two sides of the same coin, he and Watson were both the ever loyal military man; though Jim would probably flay him if he knew of his sympathy towards the army doctor. Jim nudged Sebastian's chin with his head, lifting himself up to look at Seb's face.

"Can we go to the funeral, Sebby?"

"That's not the best place for you."

"Mmmm, I wouldn't let the good doctor see me, now, would I?"

Sebastian didn't respond; instead he dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"Seb?"

"Sebastian?"

"Do you have to go and rub it in?" Sebastian sighed, "you already killed the man."

"I think you missed the point of that newspaper article, darling. It was the suicide of a broken man, I'm no killer."

At this point, Sebastian laughed. In the literal sense, he was hardly a killer. Sebastian always pulled the trigger, rigged the bombs, or wielded the knife; Jim was just the man that gave the order. "Fine, we'll go, but you better wear a fucking hat or something."

He vaguely heard a grumbled "I don't _do_ hats" as Jim laid down on his chest again.

/ooo/ooo/ooo/

The day of the funeral, Jim walked to the cemetery hand in hand with Sebastian. They had slipped in easily enough; it was so busy that no one paid attention to the two men. The place was full of people each telling their stories of how Sherlock had helped them in the past and how they would never believe that he was a fraud. The service was closed casket, jim gleefully suspected sherlock's face was much too bashed in. A few people had spoke on his behalf, namely DI Lestrade, his brother Mycroft, a woman Sebastian recognised as Molly from the hospital, and John. John was the last to speak; his speech wasn't very long, yet it reflected John's great respect for the man. Near the end his voice had cracked and a kindly looking older lady hurried him off the stage back to the former speakers. With that, the entire procession moved to the cemetery where the casket was lowered down and buried.

Jim lead Seb around the maze of headstones, never stopping to read any names. Yards away they watched John linger around the freshly dug grave. Sebastian tugged on Jim's hand,

"Please, can we leave?"

"Just a bit longer."

They milled around the graves, letting Jim get his kicks out of John's emotional speech to Sherlock's grave. Sebastian had been uneasy from the start, but having Jim next to him beaming with sadistic pleasure while bouncing around like a hyperactive child made him nervous about being found out.

"We're at a funeral, you could try not to look so thrilled. Also, you've had your fun, can we get out of here before anyone notices you. You're not exactly incognito you know." He reprimanded

"Fine, fine, we can go."

"Thank you." Seb gripped his hand tighter, intending to pull him away before he could change his mind.

"Don't look now, seems like Johnny boy caught sight of us."

Sebastian froze, hissing for Jim to get out of here; he stalked away, making a pretty good show of being devastated by Sherlock's death just a bit too late. It was odd not looking at John Watson through the scope of his rifle, even odder watching him come nearer without the intent to harm or without the slightest clue that the man he willingly approached had been prepared to kill him a few weeks before. Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder to see Jim head off to the parking lot.

"Good afternoon,"

"Hello, I, umm, I'm sorry about-" Sebastian gestured vaguely to the headstone

"Yeah, he was a good man. It's a wonder the world keeps turning without Sherlock Holmes on it."

Seb nodded absently in consent, wanting nothing more than to hurry away from this goddamn cemetery.

"How did you meet him?"John asked

"I was dishonourably discharged from the military, Sherlock helped me clear my name."

"That sounds like him. Always nice to meet a fellow soldier."

"Good to meet you too, I better be off though."

"That's probably a good idea, Moriarty doesn't seem like the type of person you'd want to keep waiting."


End file.
